I Told You Never to Play That Slut-Shaming Song Again

Good morning, listeners, and welcome to the Smash the Patriarchy Easy Listening Hour, where our special guest today will be. YOU!

That’s right, we heard those thousands of complaints about the “rapey” message of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”: the manipulative and aggressive man insisting a woman stay at his place although she repeatedly tells him she wants to go; the physical liberties he assumes are his to take — “I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice”; the woman’s fear (“Say. What’s in this drink?”) — that her drink has been drugged. And by the way, in the original version, it had been drugged. The last lines of the Frank Loesser duet, as written for the 1940s film “Neptune’s Daughter” were, in fact:

“Golly, the room in spinning/ Not really

Suddenly I’m flat on the floor/ You look swell there

I really mush whaaa???… / Baby, it’s cold outside.

Those lyrics were quite properly deemed unacceptable by the Hays Code and were cut. Regrettably, many far more egregious songs did enter the so-called Great American Songbook where, remarkably, they continued to be not merely defended but celebrated. Many are still viewed as “romantic,” “playful” or “harmless.” There are high school marching bands which continue to play, “Hey, Big Spender.” NEWS FLASH, PARENTS: It’s a solicitation by sex workers!

But enough of the songs that drive me crazy, let’s hear from you, the disrespected listener. First caller, Rachel in Portland, Ore. Rachel, you’re on.

“Good morning and first of all let me say I love your show. That piece you did last month about the age-shaming subtext of ‘Happy Birthday’ sung nonconsensually in the workplace — all I could think was ‘Finally!’ But my problem: I’ve been seeing who I thought was a very nice man for some time, and last Saturday he asked me over to his house for dinner. He’d obviously put a lot of effort into it; the house was filled with flowers, he’d cooked a wonderful meal, he’d had the cat I was allergic to euthanized.”

Wow, he sounds like a keeper!

“That’s what I had been thinking, too. I was ready to get intimate — I’d brought the legal papers of consent, signed and notarized. Then he clicks on his playlist and the first song that comes up is, “Teach Me Tonight.” I walked out immediately, of course. But it was so degrading. And the worst part is, I feel like I asked for it, going to his house.”

Rachel, first let me say that what happened to you was awful. I completely understand why you’re traumatized. But I want you to listen to me very, very carefully: What a man selects for his playlist is not your fault. “Teach Me Tonight” is one of the most offensive examples of mansplaining music in the American Songbook with the singer, of course, always a woman:

“Did you say I’ve got a lot to learn?

Well don’t think I’m trying not to learn …

Teach me tonight.”

Can you imagine what the reaction would be if a man, say Dwayne Johnson, sang this number, perhaps in a tender moment with his love interest in his upcoming RomSplat, “Rampage”? The other male action stars would be on the phone with him in a minute saying: “Dude, what were you thinking? No man, especially one with delts so huge that they need to call their own Uber, should have to play dumb to be considered sexually attractive. You’re fine JUST THE WAY YOU ARE.”

I’ll take it a step further: No one, of any gender, should sing “Teach Me Tonight.” Unless you’re taking a course in advanced French grammar because that stuff is hard.

Next caller, Gloria in Woodstock, N.Y. Sing out, Gloria, what song would you like to see eradicated from the so-called Great American Songbook?

“Well, as you know, Valentine’s Day is coming up and that means we’ll be subjected to “My Funny Valentine” day and night. It’s so judgmental, especially the line, “Is your figure less than Greek?” A guy takes you to dinner, you hear that line and all you can think is, ‘No dessert for me.’ It’s so depressing.”

Gloria, I understand. But you have to remember a lot of women have recorded that song also. “My Funny Valentine” is not merely a song that judges women, it’s a song that judges everyone. That line, “Is your mouth a little weak?” You could be a 4-year-old kid and you’d stop tormenting your younger sister to check yourself out in the mirror. And since all little kids have weak mouths you’d get self-conscious and you’d stop playing with the other kids and your parents would call in a specialist who would say you were a danger to yourself and you’d be on antipsychotics for the rest of your life.

And of course, since the song is about Valentine’s Day, the worst day of the year, it’s intended to make you miserable. It’s a marketing thing: You think about your love life, you feel so bad you buy one of those big boxes of chocolates when normally you don’t even have a Ritter Sport Mini in the house. It’s not just you, either. Check out Etta James’s version of “My Funny Valentine” sometime. She’s so bummed you can practically see the Cherry Garcia stains on her dress.

We’ve got time for one more caller.

Christy, in Van Nuys, what’s on your mind?

“I’m a socially responsible person, dedicated to the eradication of the abuse of power wherever it exists, but I think you may be overreacting here. You could interpret a lot of songs as manipulative or coercive, but isn’t the larger picture that however flawed they may be, these songs are trying to express love? You must have something in the American Songbook that you find valuable, even uplifting.”

Christy, indeed I do. If you want a song that celebrates mature love between partners who are equals, nothing compares to “I Wish I Were in Love Again.” It was written by Lorenz Hart, the same man, remarkably, who gave us “My Funny Valentine.” What’s that almost too-tender line?

And be sure to tune in tomorrow, where we will take a break from gender issues and make a foray into politics. Our topic: How can “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” be interpreted as sympathetic to the Jim Crow South if Joan Baez recorded it and can I sing along anyway? What about humming? Is humming O.K.?”

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I Was Misinformed is a humor column aboutsurvival in New York City. Any resemblance topersons alive or dead is your own fault.Email: misinformed@nytimes.com.